


Ankles and Other Broken Joints

by BlackIrises



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Crush, Fluff, Fluffy, Injured Louis, M/M, One Shot, Paramedic Harry, Short, Short One Shot, and louis can't follow the rules, harry's really pretty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 10:23:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6113542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackIrises/pseuds/BlackIrises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Louis has a nasty habit of ignoring warning signs and Harry is a paramedic with distracting eyes and a dazzling smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ankles and Other Broken Joints

 

Louis supposes that maybe he should look at the sky more often. Sure, it’s always  _ there,  _ technically, lounging absentmindedly above the buzz and bustle of London’s antiquated streets, but he can’t actually remember the last time he pulled a moment out from his not-so-busy day to stop and look up. He can’t help but wonder if the sky’s always been this blue, this fantastical cyan  _ blue _ that glows just as heartily as the sun. Whether or not, Louis is happy that he’s finally gotten the chance to appreciate the sky’s unassuming loveliness, though he does wish that his discovery was founded on better conditions. Sure, he’s positioned in a way that the sun bathes him in pleasantly warm light where he see the sky’s endless stretch, but he’s also pretty sure that his left ankle is a shattered mess of bone shards and torn skin. 

“ _ Louis, Fuck!”  _ A panic-stricken voice calls from somewhere to his right. It takes him a moment longer than it should to realize that it’s only Niall, which makes him wonder if his head had taken some damage as well. He shrugs, painfully so - maybe something might’ve been wrong with his back, too, definitely some bruising in the least - and then refocuses his attentions on the tarp of cerulean sky above him. Until, of course, Niall has to come along and obstruct his view. 

Louis frowns, displeased, before the blond hastily drops into a crouch and grabs onto his shoulders. 

“Louis, oh my lord,” Niall’s mouth is wide, and Louis can’t think of a time he’s last seen Niall’s face contorted into such an aghast expression. “Are you alright?” 

Watching as Niall’s crystally blue eyes scanned the length of his body, Louis nods his head, although he realizes that the nod might not’ve been his best idea when he feels the scrape of cold pavement against the sensitive  nape of his neck. He groans involuntarily, his nose scrunching in sync with Niall’s gasp. 

“Don’t move, you idiot,” He chides, though the worry hangs tightly to his expression. From his peripherals, Louis notices a small crowd of curious tourists - he can tell by their cameras and tacky outfits - and Londoners gathered around them, and from what he can hear, one of them’s already ringing 999. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” His eyes flick back to Louis’ legs, just for a moment, “More. You’re going to hurt yourself more.”

Louis tries at a smile. “M’sorry?”

Niall shakes his head, sunlight glinting off of his blond hair in a fashion that Louis can only describe as oddly unkempt. “The sign said no running, you twit.  _ No running.  _ And what do you do? You run-”

Louis opens his mouth to speak, but Niall’s obviously not done and before the injured boy has a chance to interject, Niall continues on with an irritated, almost motherly cock of his eyebrow. 

“But not only do you run. No. You have to go running around like a six-year-old at the top of a flight of stone stairs. Are you six, Lou? _ Are you _ ?”

An inundation of blaring sirens drown out Louis’ answer, and the older boy is relieved that he won’t have to deal with the wrath of a panicked and concerned Niall Horan. So relieved, in fact, that he sighs, and doesn’t miss the last look of exasperation that crosses the irishman’s face before a barrage of paramedics sweep the scene. 

Niall steps back, but Louis is only reunited with his lovely view of the sky for a moment that’s much too quick, as another figure slides in to occupy his field of view. Except, Louis doesn’t feel all that bad about losing his display of sky, because the figure above him might just be infinitely prettier. 

He’s all oaky curls and hydrangea lips and eyes that are so green they put every other green - and every other colour, for that matter - to shame. For a fraction of a second, Louis forgets about his stupid fall, forgets about the fact that he’s probably totaled his ankle and brandished himself in bruises head to toe because he felt like being silly.

This stranger who is examining his body, similar to the way Niall had been minutes earlier but with a more trained degree precision, bites his lips, and Louis can see his delicate features twist in a momentary cringe once his emerald eyes meet his ankle. 

“You’ve busted yourself up pretty badly, eh?” The man says and there’s no denying it - Louis’ sure that he’s already gone for this gorgeous man that’s somehow outshining the canvas of ultramarine above them. His voice is nothing like Louis could have imagined and yet, at the same time, exactly how Louis would’ve expected it to sound. As deep as the pacific and soothing as his mother’s lullabies, spoken in a slow (but not to be mistaken with lazy) drawl, topped with an oddly comforting amount of rockiness.

Louis can’t seem to bring himself to answer, and so instead of answering, he continues to stare up at the paramedic with a dopey smile on his face, hardly comprehending the fact that his body might be in serious disrepair. He doesn't really know, though, because he hasn’t actually given himself the chance to check out what his fall down a flight of twenty or so stairs has done to his body, has been too busy becoming the sky’s next not-so-secret admirer. 

The paramedic turns away, his curls sailing through the air with the finesse of a ballerina, and makes a waving motion with his hands. Louis can’t help but notice that his ceramic skin seems to nearly glitter beneath the midday sun. 

Two more paramedics find themselves in Louis’ vision, both of them on either side of an unfortunately coloured yellow and fluorescent orange gurnie. They speak to the paramedic with the too-pretty face and eyes that could probably rival peridots before promptly marching over to Louis’ side. The pretty man crouches down, resting his hand on Louis’ arm and, Louis thinks, if he wasn’t in such an afflicted situation right now, he’d be a mess of blushing, beaming, and maybe even giggling. 

“Alright, mate, we’re going to have to lift you now and, fair warning, this is probably going to hurt.” The curly-headed paramedic drawls, eyes participating in a wonderful connection with Louis’. 

Louis nods. From the corner of his eye, he can see an ambulance with obnoxious red and blue lights swirling and strobing at the top, and Niall conversing with a fourth paramedic. There’s worry on his face still, Louis can see it even from a distance, and it almost makes him feel bad. Almost. But he’s the one with the wrecked ankle, he thinks, and so it should be him who’s upset, not Niall. 

Although he’s finding that he’s having a hard time being too upset, himself, and maybe it’s because he’s developed a crush on the face of the sky, or maybe it’s because he’s developed a crush on the face of the paramedic that’s currently got his (admittedly large) hands slid under his body and a focused look sharpening his features. 

“Alright,” He starts, the other two paramedics joining him in crouching positions and positioning their hands under Louis’ body, “In three…”    
The paramedic’s eyes wander back down to Louis, and unless Louis really did bump his head during his fall and is suffering some sort of hallucination-inducing concussion, he swears that he notices the man’s eyes soften. 

“One,”

Louis inhales sharply.

“Two,”   
He closes his eyes next, instantly missing his view of both the attractive sky and the paramedic that's even more so.

“Three!”   
And then Louis is up in a whip of air and an unbearably sharp stab of pain that shoots from the base of his ankle to the back of his throat. He yelps, his eyes bulging as he reflexively attempts to snatch at his ankle. He yelps again, this time out of gruesome shock instead of searing pain, when he finally catches sight of his ankle.

He doesn’t believe that ‘mangled’ would do the state of his poor, poor ankle justice. With bloody pieces of what looks to be his  _ fucking bone  _ sticking out at every angle and skin that looks like it’s been chopped up by a scissor-happy preschooler, his ankle looks less like a human joint and more like the remnants of poorly grinded pork.

He tosses his head backwards, feeling undeniably sick at the sight of his shredded ankle, and tries to focus on the sky above, on the cerulean canvas hanging with gratification, but he can’t seem to erase the gorey image of his condition from his vision. Not even the paramedic and his ethereal eyes seem to be able to distract Louis long enough from the nasty sight to allow him to get his bearings together. 

“ _ Shit”  _  He breathes sharply, his vision becoming overrun by what resemble thick black cotton balls. There’s a large hand encasing his shoulder, a series of other, not as significant hands fastening him down to the gurney, an ambulance opening and welcoming him in,  and then he loses consciousness completely.

-

Louis wakes up to an unforgiving thumping and the sound of inevitable traffic that unfailingly arrives with rush hour. There’s a massive kink in his neck and the pain he feels emanating from his ankle is intolerable at best, but when he forces his eyelids to open he’s met with the dimpled cheeks of the pretty paramedic man as he laughs at something one of the other paramedics seems to have told him. There’s a silver roof above him and a complete lack of windows, but he’s unable to focus on his surrounding area for too long, what with the man sitting a foot away from him looking comelier than anyone has the right to be.

With adamant sights Louis watches the man, his smile borderlining heartstopping. Louis doesn’t think it’s fair that someone is allowed to be just that pretty, especially not when they’re in a job that requires high concentration because, and it’s just Louis’ personal opinion, his fellow co-workers must have an incredibly hard time trying to focus on their given tasks when faced with such a cherub-esque complexion. 

He keeps his gaze trained on the grinning paramedic until the ambulance jerks forward - possibly a sign of a slight shift in traffic - and he, once again, involuntarily cries out as another burst of pain snaps through his leg. 

“Morning, sunshine,” the paramedic grins, lips stretching even wider over his ivory teeth. Louis wonders if it’s against protocol for a paramedic to be so cheerful on call. “You passed out after taking a look at your ankle, which is understandable. S’not too pretty, what you’ve done to it.” 

Louis bites his lip, glancing at the other three paramedics in the vehicle that’ve taken to commencing in their own separate conversation. “I knew it’d be bad,” Louis began, resisting the urge to sit up, “but I didn’t think my bone would be  _ that  _ visible.”

The paramedic hummed softly, his broad grin smoothening out into a tame quirk of his petal-coloured lips. There's still something of a dimple visible on his right cheek, his tumble of shiny hazel curls now pulled up into a neat bun on top of his head. 

“Are you sure you're a paramedic?” Louis says, squinting his eyes. His head’s foggy and his leg’s in pain and and his body’s aching and there's a lucky chance that he's concussed and he doesn't even let the paramedic answer his question when he continues, “No, I think you're a model. Are you a model? You look like a model.”

A field of rosy pink that matches his lips blooms across the paramedic’s cheeks, and Louis marvels at the delightful colour before he himself reddens in embarrassment.

He can't fathom the fact that he really just said that, with absolute confidence as well. 

The paramedic clears his throat, a violent noise that he somehow makes sound elegant, “Thank you?” He's got a thick eyebrow halfway up the cliff of his forehead, an amused glint shining between the shades of emerald and pine within his irises. “Not the typical thing someone who’s just obliterated their ankle makes, but I suppose I've heard stranger.”

The paramedic reaches over and adjusts a thin, pale blanket that Louis didn't know had been covering his aching body, and Louis can't help but admire the edge of his jaw as he does so. “Sorry, I didn't-”

“Don't worry about it,” the paramedic interrupts, waving his hand in a passive motion. “You fell down a massive flight of stairs, s’normal for you to be a bit dazed.”

The ambulance turns, rather sharply at that, the hurried sound of equipment sliding around the floor filling Louis’ ears for a prolonged second. 

The paramedic says something that's too hushed for Louis to comprehend to the other three paramedics before handing his attention back to the injured man. “We should be at the hospital in five to ten minutes, depending on how well the traffic’s planning on behaving.” His lips smush to the side, “We  _ should  _ have been able to get there sooner, but Greg,” he turns and glares pointedly at one of the other paramedics, “told the driver that you're completely stable and aren't in need of immediate medical attention. Sorry, Louis.”

If it were possible for a brain to short-circuit, that's exactly what Louis thinks his would've done. He thought he loved the paramedic’s voice but damn, he knows he loves it so, so,  _ so  _ much more when it's saying his name. He doesn't even question how the man knows his name, knows that Niall probably said something, and-

Niall. The irishman’s worried expression soaks into his head and washes out any thought of the green-eyed paramedic and his laid-back smile. 

“Niall. Where's Niall?” 

When the paramedic’s cool composure falters and he doesn't answer instantly, Louis continues. “The blond guy I was with? Y’know, blue eyes with breath that smells unfailingly like fried chicken?”

Glancing over at his co-workers, the paramedic frowns. “Oh, him? He said he’d drive to the hospital himself, along with something about wanting to take the car for a spin?”

Louis groans then, tossing his head backwards dramatically which, in retrospect, probably looks like he's been attacked by another sudden pain. The paramedic’s face goes hard, and he's a flash of chocolate curls and porcelain skin as he grabs Louis’ biceps and lifts the blanket to peek at his ankle. His voice is controlled and solid. “What's wrong? Did you jostle your ankle? Stay still, I'll just-”

Chuckling, although maybe chuckling isn't what any sane person would do in his situation, Louis shakes his head, subconsciously shrinking under the paramedic’s inspecting gaze. “No- no. Just not pleased about Niall driving my car, s’all. Lad doesn't have the best track record.”

The paramedic narrows his eyes suspiciously, only relaxing once he analyzes the condition of Louis’ ankle. “Tell me if anything hurts, yeah?”

The other paramedics in the ambulance burst out into unified laughter, the three of them pointedly staring at their pale-skinned counterpart. He grimaces at them, rolling his eyes in a mocking manner:

“M’ Harry.” The paramedic - Harry - says, a dimple releasing from the curtain of his cheek which, to Louis’ delight, is still tinged with pink. “And ignore my coworkers, they don't seem to know how to  _ act. _ ” 

Harry, Louis thinks, nearly ignoring the rest of what he'd said. Harry - a name that’s common enough, really, but somehow this man makes it feel unique,  _ new, _ even. His foot still stings like hell and his head is buzzing and he’s almost certain that he’ll probably require some sort of physical therapy to rehabilitate his ankle somewhere down the road, but he can’t take his mind off of the charming, model-esque man seated next to him, can’t bring himself to worry about any of the ten million things his situation permits. 

“I’d tell you how nice a name that is, but I’m concussed, not cliched.” Louis jokes, smiling as warmly as one can smile when in moderate to severe pain.    
Harry’s lips parts - Louis would never admit how fascinated he found himself with the action - but before the paramedic can reply, the ambulance halts in its movement and the back doors swing open, revealing a dark haired woman in a uniform embroidered with the hospital’s name and a red cross.

As if someone had flipped a switch, Harry’s calm, light demeanor changes into one that’s controlled and assertive. He and the other paramedics all stand in unison, and make quick work of rolling Louis out of the ambulance. 

When he’s outside again and, to his utmost pleasure, reunited with the breathtaking hues of the sky, he finds himself with a balloon of panic inflating beneath his lungs. He’s not sure of exactly why, but it might have something to do with the reality of his circumstances. He’s in the hospital and his ankle is broken beyond recognition. 

_ He’s in the hospital and his ankle is broken beyond recognition.  _

He can hear voices around him and he can tell that someone’s wheeling his gurney towards what’s probably an entryway into the hospital, but everything has become a blur, surreal and wobbly and  _ scary.  _

Louis knows that there’s panic erupting across his face, can feel that his eyebrows are creasing and are lips tensing into a taught line, but he doesn’t know how obvious he is until he feels a warm hand find it’s way to his forearm. 

“Hey,” Harry’s voice becomes the only sound he can hear, “Don’t worry, you’re going to be okay, alright? These guys know what they’re doing, they’ll take care of you just fine.”   
Louis nods his head, only semi-aware of how close Harry’s leaned into him.

Harry releases his hold on Louis’ arm, and with a quick “Catch you later”,  he lets a pair of nurses in navy blue scrubs wheel Louis into the hospital. 

It’s not long before Louis reunites with Niall - who’s actually got the balls to  _ grin _ about getting to drive Louis’ car - and then it’s not long after that that he’s sending phone calls to mum and being chided by Lottie about  _ not being a responsible adult _ and  _ setting horrible examples for his baby sisters _ . Occasionally his mind flits to Harry and the way his face put models’ to shame, but it’s not until he’s being wheeled in for surgery that he really stops and thinks about the man. 

It’s with a sour taste in his mouth and the poke of an IV tube on the back of his hand that he realizes he’s probably never going to see the man again. His spirits droop like thirsty roses as an oxygen mask is placed over his mouth. Nurses and doctors bustle around the room as the world begins fade to black.

He sinks into a river of unconsciousness, his thoughts swimming with thoughts of chocolate curls and emerald eyes. 

 

\---

 

Surgery, according to a sweet old nurse with a gentle stormcloud irises and a snowy white bob, went exceptionally well. Louis was expected to make a full recovery, which should’ve elated him, but with anesthesia pumping through his veins, he was lucid at best and cared more about the horrendous colour of his hospital gown than the condition of his foot. 

Yet, even through the fog of his drugged-up state, he could tell that Niall was exceptionally giddy, and it probably wasn’t because he had a crush on Lottie, who were driving down with his mum to visit Louis. 

Louis falls asleep fifteen minutes after returning from the recovery ward, and doesn’t wake up until the next morning, a chink in his neck from the position his leg cast required him to sleep in and an aching body from the multitude of bruises his fall had given him. Discomforted and grumpy as he might be, however, all the nastiness he’s feeling is washed away when Niall - who had insisted on staying with him overnight - hands him a bouquet of flowers.

The brunette quirks an eyebrow, but Niall raises his palms and turns to skip out of the room. 

Confused, Louis looks back down at the flowers, noticing a small white card adorned with neat cursive tucked in between the colourful array of petals and stems.    
With careful fingers he extracts the card, and doesn’t even bother to fight the grin that spreads across his cheeks when he reads what’s written. 

 

_ Told you they’d take care of you.  _

_ -Harry ;) _

 

It takes Louis longer than it should have to realize that the series of numbers below Harry’s signature is a phone number. 

He’s not sure if it’s healthy to be this excited while being condemned to a hospital bed with a brutally broken foot, but frankly, he can’t find it in him to care.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't posted anything in forever and then some, so I hope you've enjoyed reading it. Feedback is much appreciated, thank you for reading :P


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